Don't Let Me Fall
by NightRider33
Summary: The tale of what happened to Doctor John Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes after the disastrous fall. Does John break down? Does Sherlock reveal himself? Find out in Don't Let Me Fall.
1. Chapter 1

John POV

I weave my way through the crowded streets of London, keeping my head down to avoid having to talk to anybody. My usual path to the diner is paved out in my head. Mrs. Hudson has been telling me that I haven't been the same since it happened. She says that I have been out of focus and anxious all the time. Even though I started seeing my therapist again, I haven't been quite the same ever since it happened, ever since he left. I open the foggy door, drawing a face in the condensation, making my way to the usual faded red booth. The waitress makes her way to my table. "Oh, hello John, how are you today?" I throw in a small grunt and she throws on a probably forced smile. She asked the same question daily, as if expecting a different answer than the one I give her. I hope I can answer it with more than a grunt one day. I think she's trying to help, but to be honest, I don't think anyone can. "The usual, then?" I give her a nod and she walks away, pulling her blonde hair out of her face, tying it up in a tight bun. I stare at a torn advert from a magazine that was giving away pink luggage. This reminds me of the first case I ever worked on with Sherlock Holmes. I can still remember clearly when he found the key to unlocking the case, the color pink. When Sergeant Donovan told me to stay away from "the freak", as she affectionately called him, I almost smile in memory, until I remember seeing his blood on the cold hard cement. I continue to stare at the dusty surface of the table, until the blonde waitress comes back with my scrambled eggs and tea. "There you are chap, eat up," She gives me yet another smile, maybe, one day, I will return one of her smiles. Probably not anytime soon, but maybe a day when the leaves are a perfect yellow, or the grass is a beautiful green, or maybe the day when Sherlock Holmes comes back. I devour my scrambled eggs so fast that the couple behind me gives me a peculiar look. I ignore them, like I have ignored my surroundings since the incident. The blonde waitress comes around to grab my plate, and I continue to slowly sip my tea. I hear a thud outside, and my head snaps to look through the dusty window. Ever since Sherlock fell, my military instincts have kicked back in and odd noises catch my attention more than they used to. I turn back to my strong cup of decaf-herbal tea and sigh. Deep down, I know that I have to get over this and get back to my life, but without Sherlock Holmes, I can't find the adventure anymore.

Sherlock POV

I take my evening stroll through the heart of town, having to resist the temptation to tell people that their spouses are cheating on them, or that they clearly are not going to pass their job interviews today. I walk along to the hospital and look up. It should be a memorable spot to me, what with the whole "Fake genius, Sherlock Holmes, was found dead, after having jumped off of St. Bart's Hospital" incident. After a long look, I continued walking. Every day I pass the diner in which John eats. I wonder what he thinks of me, if he does. Somedays, I actually feel guilty for leaving him like that, but other days I just kind of pass him by with no emotion. I don't think I can talk to him just yet, but maybe, maybe someday, I will be able to talk to my only friend once more.


	2. Chapter 2

John POV

I leave a tip on the counter, and rush out the diner. I run home. Most would guess I do this to avoid muggers, but in all honesty, it's to avoid seeing it, that loathsome building. To avoid remembering it, the look on his face when he was falling. To try not to remember him, the tall, dark, surreptitious, swanky detective that has changed- no changes me, in a way I thought no one ever could. I used to be able to look at someone and see them. Just see them. I don't have that luxury any more. My deductive skills have been…sharpened, ever since I have been acquainted with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock POV

I let the shadows hide my tall figure. The press used to think I was tall. I told them I took advantage of a short friend and a good coat. John passes me in a hurry. I wonder if I really did take advantage of a short friend, my short friend. I almost shout out that his right shoe is untied, but I realized that he would hear me. And I am supposed to be dead. My heart almost aches when I think of Mrs. Hudson, John, and 221B Baker Street. It had been my home for such a short time, but I can still remember the day when I rented it from Mrs. Hudson. I would not have predicted the day that I would fake my own death for the lives of my friends. I didn't have friends. I am afraid I may still not have friends. Did I lose him when I jumped? What have I done? Suddenly, a crowd of people comes, pushing and shoving, down the street. My senses are clouded with observations, and thoughts of my old life is forced out of my head. I see a man who has eaten one too many doughnut-holes, and I saw that he was going to vomit all over a woman's hair before he did it. She turns around, brownish gunk all over her hair. I pull myself back farther into the shadows of an alleyway that I chose for hiding. I pulled my collar up and walked across the road to the ratty apartment that I had chosen for cover. It's a small place, located behind a quaint, little coffee place, 'Petit,' is the name. The owner of the apartment owed me a favor, because a few months back, I had let him know that his wife had cheated on him. It was strange that I had confided in him, rather than John, but he didn't know anything about me, whereas if John was captured, they would get all sorts of things out of him about me. The apartment landlord greeted me as I escaped the cold winter air of London. I gave him a nod and headed up to my flat. It was mostly empty, all my items close so I could grab them if I needed to run. I grabbed and opened my laptop, and John's blog stared up at me. I almost pressed the X, but I saw a recent post, titled Reichenbach Falls. I hesitated at first, but I couldn't resist. I opened the page, at first seeing the picture of me in that ridiculous hat that had been Detective Inspector Lestraude's gift to me. I read the whole article. My mind started to spin, John was always a great blogger, but I didn't know how he felt about the my "death". His opinions were publicly there, right on the page for me. Everything I didn't know, was to be known. I breathed in deeply and entered my mind palace.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock POV

Words flash through my mind, zooming back and forth, almost too fast for me to catch them. However, all of them manage to slip out of my grasp, and the only word that I see is John. I don't know what this means or why it is happening, but it scares me. I run out of my mind palace. With a jolt I burst awake. I look around me. I am in my temporary "home," but the only thing I can see is John's blog staring at me from the laptop screen. It is as if John himself is screaming, "HELP. Sherlock, I need your help."

John POV

I trudge my way up the stairs into 221B. Mrs. Hudson softly calls my name. She seems to be one of the only one who could really relate to me, having lived close to Sherlock for some of his life. She knows how empty the flat feels without Sherlock. I can still see the shots in the wall that he fired when he was bored. The skull he used to talk to sits atop the mantel. If I look at it for a long time, I can almost see Sherlock's face in the skull. His quizzically pale face and high cheekbones stare back at me. Is this a sign that I have come to believe that he is really dead? "John, dear?" I look up to see Mrs. Hudson settling herself down in an armchair across from me. I give her a nod. I barely speak these days. Though I always try to, my words get caught in my throught. "I was thinking, you should see your therapist more often," I stare at her with wide eyes. She must have seen my panic because she began to talk faster. "Now, now before you refuse, just see the lady more than a couple of times a month. It will do you good," I sigh and rub my eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson, all due respect, I think I'm doing alright. I have enough savings until I can fully recover, so I don't believe I am pressed for time," I say hoarsely and more sharply than I meant it.

"I'm going to give you some tough love, John. Sherlock's gone. He's never coming back, and he never was ever since he fell off the building. You're in denial, I know. I lost a couple family members in my time, and I get it. He was a good friend to you. But, you need to let this incident fall off your back. You were a military man, you know death. Every time a soldier died, did you go into hiding within yourself? Did you forget your duty to your country, to yourself?" Mrs. Hudson gives me a motherlike look. I want to cry, but I can't, I shouldn't. It was almost like she was scolding me for not standing up to a schoolyard bully. Except for this time, the school bully is death and I am still me. She stands up from the chair and pulls on her coat. "I'm going to the bookstore, I'll check on you when I get back,". I stare into nothing and contemplate what Mrs. Hudson told me. I thought that she understand my situation, that she was with me in the fight. Now, she was acting like she was the mother of a child, whose pet died. Just days ago, she was sitting at home, mindlessly sitting on the couch all day. I walk to my bedroom and fall asleep in my clothes.


End file.
